All Honor's Wounds
by Bonibaru00
Summary: It was on a wild wet night in April that Tony Fontaine rode in from Jonesboro on a lathered horse that was half dead from exhaustion and came knocking at their door ... ” Ashley’s mind races as he prepares to go with Tony.


Title: All Honor's Wounds Pairing: Ashley/Scarlett Rating: PG Disclaimer: Gone With The Wind and all its associated characters are the property of the estate of Margaret Mitchell Marsh, Time Warner and Warner Books, and no infringement of copyright is intended. Summary: "It was on a wild wet night in April that Tony Fontaine rode in from Jonesboro on a lathered horse that was half dead from exhaustion and came knocking at their door ... " Ashley's mind races as he prepares to go with Tony. Many thanks to top secret betas (you know who you are).  
  
*All honor's wounds are self-inflicted*. –Andrew Carnegie  
  
On a rainy late afternoon in April, Ashley Wilkes is lacing his boots as quickly as he can despite the trembling of his fingers. He knows Tony Fontaine will not want to wait for him much longer. If they don't beat news of Eustis' death to Jonesboro, they might be arrested by the Yankees before they can find – and kill – Jonas Wilkerson.  
  
It terrifies him to think of what could have happened to Sally, what could happen to any of their women – what if it had been Melanie, even more pale and thin now than ever before? The image of his fragile wife in harm's way brings with it a fresh wave of rage, adding to the hot burn of fear and anger already simmering in his blood. Melanie isn't strong like Scarlett is. She wouldn't be able to defend herself from a drunken negro with improper intentions.  
  
The thought of Scarlett brings a fresh wave of guilt. That wound is still raw, and his heart aches whenever anyone at Tara mentions her name. Ashley knows it's his fault that she is married to a man she doesn't love. It was his ineffectiveness that drove her to it. He always knew Scarlett was strong enough to overcome any hardships that life put in her path, but not until the day she announced she was going to Atlanta had he realized how much of herself she was willing to sacrifice in the process.  
  
The shame of it gnaws at him every day, chipping away at his spirit. There must have been something he could have done, if he had only taken the time to really think about it - some thing, no matter how small, that would have kept Scarlett at home and the taxes at bay. If only he hadn't lost his head that afternoon, if only he had paid more attention to her plight instead of his own lust, he would have realized her true intentions and stopped her before it was too late. But it was too late for might-have- beens. When Ashley had let Scarlett go off to Atlanta without lifting a finger to help her keep Tara out of Wilkerson's hands, he had lost the right to call himself a man of honor. He had lost the right to call himself a man at all.  
  
He reaches for his pistol, the barrel catching the last bit of light from the window as he picks it up. The gleaming weapon stands out in sharp relief against the darkening corners of the room. For a moment, it is all he can see. He wonders what will happen if Wilkerson kills him first. Would Scarlett mourn his death? Does she blame Ashley for her plight, would she think he deserved to die? He loads the pistol quickly and slips it into his belt. Ashley has always been the best rider, the best card player, and the best shot in the county. If he is killed tonight, he will have died defending what is right, and that is all a Southern gentleman can hope for these days.  
  
The air is heavy with humidity, and a trickle of sweat slides down the side of his face. He swipes at it, irritated. He should have killed Wilkerson back then, and none of this would have ever happened. He should have been willing to make that sacrifice for Scarlett, who had sacrificed so much to shelter his family and keep them safe and fed through all the dark days after Atlanta fell.  
  
Frank Kennedy has a good heart and an honorable reputation, and he will be a good husband to Scarlett, but Ashley knows it was really Rhett that she went to Atlanta to see. He hadn't missed Mammy's quick, guarded glance at Scarlett when Melanie teasingly brought up Captain Butler's name. Rhett wants Scarlett, Ashley knows, but only for the challenge she represents - not for the nobility of her spirit, her courage, or the hard determination she possesses which Ashley so envies. Certainly Scarlett can be petty and ruthless, much like Rhett, and it is probably those qualities she shares with him that Rhett most desires in her. But Rhett could never appreciate her finer qualities like Ashley does. He will never love her the way Ashley does, the way she deserves to be loved - like the true lady that she is, with unwavering devotion and a deeply held appreciation of her inner beauty.  
  
As Ashley pulls on his coat and closes the door behind him, he thinks that a piece of him will always belong to Scarlett O'Hara. Now that she's gone he clings to the memory of her light, supple body swooning in his arms, her rose-flushed lips pressing earnestly against his own, the passion of their stolen kisses. But he doesn't deserve her love, and he despises himself for it. So many of Scarlett's losses have been his fault. He is weak, too weak to resist his longing for her, too weak to alter the path laid out for him before he was even born. If Ashley had stood up to his family and married Scarlett instead of Melanie, what kind of woman might she be today? Would she still be as hard around the edges if he had been there to nurture the better parts of her, to show her the woman that she could have become?  
  
He can hear the rain hitting the windows as he runs down the stairs and out the back door to where Pork is waiting with the saddled horse. Scarlett is a steel sword in a velvet sheath, but every hardship, every difficulty she has had to face down alone has stripped away more and more of her tenuous outer softness. Eventually she will be left bare, sharp and shining coldly in the dying light of the old South, and on that day Ashley's heart will break completely.  
  
The old house servant's jaw twitches as he hands Ashley the reins and glances up to the darkened sky. "I 'spec it's gwine ter keep rainin' awhile, Mist' Wilkes. If'n you cut acrost de low pasture, and go up roun' de norf' side o' de swamp, dem trees keep you dry fo' a while an' you won't be like ter meet so meny folks as on de road."  
  
*Because the Yankees will be on the road*, Ashley thinks as he swings up into the saddle. Pork knows all the secret shortcuts through the county, from his nightly raids during the war days. He thanks the old house servant, and turns the horse down the road to where Tony is waiting.  
  
Ashley still dreams of the War, sometimes – in those dreams he is hemmed in by smoke and haze, the sound of gunshots punctuating the screams and sobs of dying men. His nearly-bare feet slip in mud and blood as he runs and shoots and ducks and prays. On those nights he wakes up in a cold sweat, nauseated, and doesn't go back to sleep again. He has had enough of killing to last several lifetimes. He has killed dozens of men in defense of his homeland, but never has Ashley killed a man for revenge. That is about to change. Wilkerson and his kind are a blight upon the earth, not worthy to live among decent folk. He will kill Wilkerson tonight with a cool head and a steady hand and will not regret it.  
  
The sense of inadequacy and frustration he has felt since the day Scarlett left for Atlanta is dissipating. Tony is determined to kill Wilkerson himself, but he will convince Tony otherwise on the way to Jonesboro. It is Ashley's duty to kill the man, to avenge Scarlett and win back his own honor, though in the long run he knows it is too little, too late. Still, it's all he can do, and he means to do it even if it's his last act on earth. It's the right thing to do, and the only thing left he can do for Scarlett that she can't do better for herself.  
  
He squares his shoulders, and rides off into the gathering gloom. 


End file.
